Lover, You Should've Come Over
by youlaysolow
Summary: A story envisioning the relationship between Mark, Addison, and Derek in New York had the affair remained uncovered. I'm toying with many ideas and trying to decide what path the story will take but it's all still in the works. R&R please!


**A/N:** This has been on my computer for over 6 months. I've been adding a sentence here and there but have been a little stuck. Nevertheless I am interested in this story and have many ideas, but I have never written a chapter fanfic before and am having a difficult time continuing. So I decided to post this first chapter in hopes that it will encourage me to continue working on it. Haven't written in a long time so please be kind. I am not too proud of the writing but think eventually it will improve. Enjoy! :)

**1.**

"_I keep going round and round on the same old circuit. A wire travels underground to a vacant lot where something I can't see interrupts the current and shrinks the picture down to a tiny dot."_

Mark speeds up in order to keep up with the fast, wide paces of Addison's heel clad feet and does his best to follow the words frantically spilling out of her mouth. She is angry, as she has been each time he's seen her in the last few months. Except for the times at which she was devastated.

"And now I'm going to have to hear it from Savvy again because this is the third trip I cancel. I mean how many times is he going to put me in this situation? How many times - "

"Addison he's just-"

"No!" Her head shakes violently, her auburn hair spilling out from behind her ears, "I'm the only one trying here, Mark, and all he can say is 'I can't'?" A dark laugh catches at the back of her throat, but it's almost like a snort. "He doesn't even have a real excuse," she spits out before sharply turning the corner.

"He has patients," he shrugs.

"He has interns," she quips, knocking his argument off the table.

"Derek doesn't _like _the Hamptons," Mark reasons again lamely. But instead of the quick retaliation he is expecting about how that is not a valid excuse, he is only met with silence.

"Ads?" he finally inquires when the silence gets uncomfortable, nudging her in the side as they step through the tall automatic doors of the hospital and onto the mildly sloping steps leading to the street. She slows to a stop and faces him.

"I think the problem is that Derek doesn't like _me_," she admits sadly and her sincerity, her utter belief in what she's saying prompts Mark's chest to tighten. Aside from a quick glance at the start of her statement, Addison keeps her eyes a safe distance away from Mark's. But she does smile to herself, a small, desolate grin stretching slowly across her lips as if she finds the idea she just shared amusing - like an answer that's been in front of her eyes all along and she had failed to see it until now. A fast intake of breath and she slides her sunglasses firmly into place on the bridge of her nose, turning towards the stairs, her moment of vulnerability over.

"Oh, Addison, no," he says tenderly, gently grabbing her wrist to stop her "Derek _loves _you okay?" his hands rests on her biceps as he tries to catch her eyes, watching as she nods once, almost skeptically but keeps her eyes glued on the concrete steps beside them. _How could he not? _he silently asks himself. "Addie," he sighs, not taking his eyes off her until she turns her head and her deep blue ones pierce into them through the tinted glass.

"If Derek loves me," she challenges, head tilted to the side, "why doesn't he ever tell me so himself?" Her upper lip quivers a little and if he didn't know her as well as he did he'd think he'd be seeing tears any second now. But as expected, she keeps her voice firm, confident - a task she appears to get better at with each passing day. Her arms rest folded against her chest, but although he can feel her guarding herself, her eyes watch him pleadingly, waiting for an answer; something, anything to help her make sense of it all. He isn't sure he can give her one.

As much as he loves his best friend, and in spite of his continuous attempts to defend him in Addison's presence, Mark can't begin to understand his recent behavior, especially towards his wife. He's been cancelling one dinner reservation after another, blatantly ignoring her phone calls, and keeping his affections limited to the minimum responses he gave to hers.

Mark opens his mouth, sensing an obligation to tell her something, _anything_, to explain, but upon understanding that Derek has no excuse for refraining from telling his wife that he loves her daily, he promptly closes it. For once, he won't make one up for him. Instead he whispers an honest "I'm sorry, Addison," before she turns on her heels, and he follows her down the steps.

There are always things he wants to tell her, or rather, wants her to know without him actually having to utter the words. As he chaperones her to her car, he wants her to know that Derek is an idiot for allowing her to think he doesn't love her. He wants her to know that if it were him, he would never let her go home to an empty house night after night. But that is all forbidden territory and for the time being he accepts what he is allowed. Like accompanying her to the various galas Derek so adamantly avoids regardless of her pleas. Like taking her out to dinner on nights Derek calls to cancel, or doesn't call at all. Like spending evenings taking long walks with her through Central Park and nights arguing over the quality of the movie one of them chose. He gets to become familiar with things like her favorite drink from the small coffee shop on Park Avenue, her aversion to horror films, and her Star Wars obsession. He becomes familiar with _her_. And he enjoys every minute of it.

"Hey," he starts as they approach her black sedan, "lets go to the Hamptons."

His optimistic smile is met with a blank stare. She blinks. "What?"

Mark's shoulders drop and he covers his eyes from the sun, hand serving as a visor, to get a good look at her. "Well you want to go to the beach house," he shrugs, "and you said Sav would be mad if you cancel again, and I know I'm not Derek but-"

"Mark, you don't have to-," she starts, shaking her head, but he quickly cuts her off.

"I want to though. It'll be fun - we can build sand castles, take a walk on the beach, you can put that new bikini you dragged me to help you pick out to good use," his eyebrows wiggle at her, basking in the thought of Addison in nothing but the white ensemble.

She thinks for a minute, teeth scraping over her bottom lip.

"Okay," she nods slowly, almost cautiously, "Okay, fine." A small smile tugs at her lips as she wraps her arms around herself "but _only _if we build sand castles."

- - -

"You know, there are times you don't _need _to bring everything in your closet with you," Mark teases loudly as he jogs up the stairs after tugging a very heavy suitcase into the trunk of his SUV. "I think, I _think_ this might be one of those rare cases."

He is met with her fake, humoring laugh from the bedroom, as Addison zips up another round of baggage. "You haven't _seen_ everything in my closet," she raises her pointer finger as if in a warning when he steps into the room. She is dressed in a pair of ripped blue jeans and a fitted white t-shirt, her curls pulled back into a lose ponytail. He knows she meant something completely different but he is imagining the contents of her closet he has not seen - things meant primarily for her husband; for Derek, who doesn't even seem to want to see them anymore. It hardy seemed fair.

"Thank God," he whispers, faking relief, and feigns hurt when she smacks his shoulder. "Ready?"

"I am."

"Andale!" He sings, grabbing the rest of her bags and heading downstairs.

They manage to load the car up fairly quickly despite the numerous times Addison remembers another essential thing she forgot to bring and runs back into the brownstone. She seems relatively excited about the prospect of finally driving out to the beach house, but Mark knows it is only a matter of time before she realizes Derek isn't with her and her mood deflates. He's there, but he isn't the one she wants.

"What did Derek say when you told him we decided to drive down?" He asks out of curiosity once they're on the road. Though he knows his best friend's reaction was probably no less indifferent then other times. "Ad?" he encourages when she hesitates.

"I didn't tell him we were going," she explains, busying herself with picking at her fingernails.

"Derek doesn't know?" Mark's eyebrows furrow, processing the confession. It wasn't like Addison to withhold something like this from Derek. Sure she hasn't always phoned to inform him she will be spending the night at Mark's when she was too tired to stand by the end of a long movie, but he has never called her either. This is different however, if only by the fact that she will be out of the house for three straight days, and four straight nights. Surely she doesn't expect her absence to go unnoticed.

"It's not that," she offers when he voices his concern. "It's just I haven't exactly spoken to him, since Wednesday night."

The sun is beginning to set and it is Friday evening. Mark is about to further his questions when he hears her sigh heavily and play with the loose strands of denim around the rips on her knees, clearly upset by the nature of the conversation.

"Why don't you pick out some music," he suggests and places his hand on her knee, deciding a change of subject is in order. He doesn't want to spend their long weekend with her sulking, especially about Derek. "Just please, no Celine Dion," he groans when she dives for the case of CDs beneath her seat. She mimics his plea in an annoying voice and flips through his selection of artists.

- - -

It is dark by the time he pulls up behind Weiss's car in the driveway of the beach house, and Mark's hand is resting comfortably on Addison's thigh. She has drifted off to sleep with her head propped up against the window, the beats of No Doubt serving as a quiet lullaby in the background. There were three dates he cancelled in order to accompany her here for a few days. Although he'll admit a part of him was reluctant to leave identical voicemail messages on each of the blondes' machines informing them he had to leave town, watching her sleep as the engine dies down and they sit alone in silent darkness reminds him it was worth it. Mark likes women - he likes sex. He likes the boost to his ego from the string of faceless women who fall into his bed. The last time Addison has slept beside him she was a sobbing mess, crying over being alone and being ignored. It did little for his ego and was the furthest thing from sex. And yet here he was, ready to invest days into ensuring there's a smile on her face whenever he is around.

It was wrong and he was not denying it. You're not supposed to fall in love with your best friend's wife. Your arm is not supposed to snake around her waist and pull her closer when you usher her into a restaurant. Your hand? It doesn't belong on the hem of her dress where it falls right above her knee. (It hardly seems appropriate for it to be gently stroking that place where fabric meets skin (even if in an attempt to comfort) under the table as you sit beside each other. Especially not with her husband on her other side. Your fingers were not supposed you rake through her hair as you tell her how beautiful she is when her head rests against your lap after the movie you two were watching has long since finished. Your lips, probably, weren't supposed to linger on her forehead quite as long as you let them. But she smiles when they do, and this, he tells himself, is reason enough to ignore the slight pangs of guilt that rush through him when he whispers that he loves her. It's reason enough to not stop. He couldn't, he thinks, even if he wanted to.

"Hey sleepyhead," he hesitantly whispers and rubs circles on her thigh with his thumb. "We're here."

She hums something in response and readjusts herself in her seat, shoulders slumping over the middle console and into his arms. She does this often when they are alone, when she strips off her professional front and relaxes in his presence. Or when she's had a bit to drink, something he monitors carefully after the time she stumbled into his apartment and begged him to kiss her, tears beginning to pour faster down her face when he refused. He resisted that once, but he knows that he couldn't do it again. So they stay clear of bars when out together, by his call.

"But I like it here," she murmurs when he coos her name into her ear in another attempt to bring her into consciousness. His arms tighten around her and he presses his cheek into her hair, deciding he could let her sleep for a few more minutes.

- - -

Three hours later the four friends, and Lindsay, a coworker of Savvy's are gathered around the fire pit on the back porch. A miscommunication between the best friends left Savvy assuming Derek was joining on the retreat and Mark was arriving solo. So she took the liberty of inviting a partner in her firm along.

The stranger was unexpected by Addison, who, confused, introduced herself first. She had rolled her eyes when Mark gladly extended his hand to the giggling woman. He stopped his eyes from trailing down her body when Addison roughly jerked the bag he was carrying out of his grasp and waddled upstairs to her room after greeting Savvy and Weiss.

She knew Savvy cared about Mark and that his meaningless nights with strangers wasn't something she approved of. So her attempt at introducing him to a successful woman she knows is nothing Addison should get angry about. And she certainly had no right to be jealous of the way she knew Mark was now leaning against the kitchen counter, flirting effortlessly with the dark-haired lawyer. A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"You okay?" Savvy shuffled into the wide room and handed Addison a glass of wine before sitting on the bed.

Addison smiled in reply, talking a long sip of the sweet drink.

"Derek couldn't make it?"

"He had to work," Addison lied, knowing fully well her husband could've easily gotten an extra two days off for the weekend, seeing as how he hasn't taken a break from his work all year.

"I'm sorry," her friend offered regretfully, receiving only a quick nod in return before Addison entered the bathroom and shut the door behind her. With furrowed eyebrows, Savvy stepped up to the closed door. "Are you mad at me? Because you're acting -"

"You should probably go downstairs, help Mark get better acquainted with _Lindsay_," Addison spat out bitterly, immediately regretting her words. Savvy did nothing to purposely upset her. With a sigh of defeat she opened the door sheepishly, ready to apologize, but the other woman had disappeared - Addison could hear her quiet footsteps echoing down the wooden stairs.

Now, an hour later she has finally convinced herself to return downstairs and is sitting outside with the rest of her friends. Weiss is busy flipping the burgers on the grill, and Savvy sits huddled in a blanket on the lounge chair they dragged up from the sand. Mark, who had been chatting with Lindsay for half an hour has disappeared into the house and the woman now sits running her fingers repeatedly through her short brown tousles as she stares somewhere into the red flames. Addison takes a long sip of wine, finishing her fourth glass, and rises for another.

She is annoyed, and despite a couple of Mark's attempts to get her involved in the various topics he has been covering with his new friend, she feels ignored. Because although he has the right to devote his attention to whomever he pleases, (and a part of her doesn't blame him because when everyone retreats to their rooms Lindsay can give him something Addison can't), he is supposed to be spending the weekend with _her_. Wasn't he the one that insisted they go? She stumbles into the living room and kicks an empty pack of beer cans out of her way as she strides towards the kitchen, eyes set on her target.

He pops out suddenly, out of the hallway she presumes although she isn't really sure because he moved much too fast and her vision has already gotten more than a little patchy.

"Whatcha doing?" He asks in a sing-song voice that causes her to shudder in annoyance, and she pushes herself out of his grasp.

"Treating myself to a refill," she replies blankly and pushes past him into the kitchen.

His hand gently grabs her wrist and he pulls her back towards him.

"Why don't you take a break?" he suggests, pulling at the sleeves of her sweatshirt when she tries to wriggle out of his grasp, "or you'll single handedly finish off that bottle of wine before the food is ready."

"No." She could be so stubborn.

"Addison, you've already had three glasses," he adds in a tone more serious.

"Four, " she corrects, though it doesn't exactly work in her favor but the correlation slips her logic. "Besides how would _you_ know. Move."

Mark sighs as she fills her glass to the brim. "You're going to get yourself drunk," he points out.

"And what, ruin your perfectly good opportunity at getting laid tonight?" she blurts out, face flushed with anger.

His forehead wrinkles. "What?"

"Don't worry, I'll stay out of the way," she assures him much louder then necessary and attempts to move past him but his arm loops around her waist and he holds her upright when she wobbles on her feet.

"Are you jealous? Is that what this is about?" he half teases half asks honestly, but she smirks in his face and a harsh _'screw you, Mark' _tumbles off her lips. "Stop it," he deadpans, "stop being a spoiled brat. I came up here with you, you left me and hid upstairs for an hour. What do you expect me to do?"

He releases her and runs his thumb and pointer finger along his jaw as she brushes past him and heads back towards the fire.

- - -

By one am Addison is squatted behind the mini bar, finger tips trailing over clear glass as her eyes hazily scan the printed names on the bottles. Of course at this point they are just words, some without meaning, some just letters mocking her inability to comprehend the contents of their containers. She's already finished what was left of the brandy left over from a previous visit to the beach house, (one she was absent from due to Derek's last minute stubbornness so she deems it only fair that it's hers to finish). Her fingers loop around the neck of a hidden Tequila bottle but she pushes is back into it's space as fast as she pulls it out, face contorting with disgust. She may be drunk, but she is still classy.

- - -

Classy seems to be like a further and further stretch as her face drops deeper into the toilet bowl, tears of anger, embarrassment, and hurt mixing with snot as she heaves. She's quiet, as quiet as she can force herself to be but obviously no quiet enough because a light rapping on the bathroom door follow another round of retching.

"Go 'way," she frowns when he lets himself into the dark room and allows his eyes to adjust. She doesn't know what he is doing here instead of in bed with that...that woman he's been endlessly flirting with all night. She wants him to leave now because she's okay.

"You don't sound okay," he counters when she tells him this.

"Oh well I'll try to keep't down then," her voice mocks him, "s'rry I interrupted your wonderful time with -,"

He doesn't wait for her to finish before he spins on his heels and starts his exit out of the bathroom. He doesn't need this right now, doesn't need her sarcastic remarks and he certainly doesn't need to be patronized for caring.

Despite her attempts to remain silent, a small sniffle and a shaky intake of breath gives her away. His hand flies out and flips the light on. His irritation with her childlike behavior diminishes when his eyes catch sight of her face before she covers it with her hands. It's not fair to him because she hasn't given him a chance to show her it's not like she sees it - the whole night. He barely spoke to Lindsay until she found a seat next to him on the back porch once the fire was started. His attempts to bring Addison into the conversation were frequent, but she's continuously turned away, or shrugged his hand off when he tried to rub her shoulders. It wasn't fair because he did care but she refused to be anything but rude to him throughout the night. But, he understood it was also unfair to Addison. He knew she missed Derek, that with Savvy's guest who was clearly meant to be set up with Mark, she probably felt like she was alone. So instead or reprimanding her attitude, her hostility and the way she annihilated half the alcohol in the house (something rare, for Addison, unless she was severely upset), Mark kneels down beside her. With one hand he tugs at her arms, prying them off her face and simultaneously pulling her into him. The other trails up and down her back comfortingly.

"I'm fine," she whimpers, wiggling out of his embrace.

"I know," he smirks, humoring her, and runs his thumb beneath her eye, drying her cheek, a futile action, for more tears quickly follow. "Think you're done here?" he motions towards the toilet and she nods, reluctantly letting him help her stand up and wash her face before guiding her towards the bed.

He silently helps her change into a comfortable pair of flannel bottoms and a navy t-shirt he fishes out of her suitcase. His help, of course, doesn't exceed merely holding her upright as she maneuvers each leg into the right pant. She cries only a little more as they lie together in the dark, her face nestled into his neck while his fingers rake through her hair.

"M'sorry, Mark," she whimpers after a while, and he tightens his arm around her. "You don't have to-, I mean you can go, you know."

His forehead wrinkles and audible sigh is his response when her eyes peak up at him. Why she is so convinced that he was sleeping with Savvy's friend, he doesn't know. Sure he's Mark Sloan, sure he sleeps with more women then there are days some weeks, but more than that he is her friend. A good friend at that, he likes to think, at least as of late. He likes to think she knows he wouldn't hurt her by spending the time he promised her with another woman.

"Shut up, Addie," he coos into her hair and rearranges the cool sheets around their feet. She seems to comply because her only response is a slight shift of her hear - burying further into the crook of his shoulder, and her breathing evens soon after.


End file.
